The Crimson Rooms by Katharine McMahon Read Free Book Online Page A

his uninviting mood, opportunities for a tête-à-tête with Breen were so rare that I thought I should not waste this chance. “Sir, I’d like to speak to you about a case that will be in court tomorrow, a woman called Leah Marchant, accused of kidnapping her own child. She wanted you to represent her because years ago, when she was a servant, you were kind to her.”
    As I’d anticipated, Breen found this flattering portrait of himself irresistible. “You say she was a servant. What is she now?”
    “Abandoned by her husband who’s a sailor—he was last seen more than two years ago. She’s now destitute. Accused of child abduction although the baby was her own. After Christmas, according to her notes, she was faced with starvation, having fraudulently claimed poor relief—she was earning a few shillings a week and hadn’t declared it. When the relief was withdrawn she surrendered the children, two little girls and a baby of one year, voluntarily to the care of a children’s home. Then she worked for a month or two and scrabbled together enough money to provide for them. But the home refuses to hand them back, on the grounds that she is not a fit parent; they say she drinks, that there is no father or other family members offering financial or moral help, and that she therefore has no means to support the children in the long term.”
    “So this kidnap?”
    “Mrs. Marchant discovered the address of the baby’s foster mother and followed her until the perambulator was left outside a butcher’s shop. Then she simply plucked the baby out and ran off. She only held him in her arms for about two minutes before she was captured.”
    Breen picked up a letter, studied it with an extravagantly furrowed brow, then thrust it aside. “Well, certainly she should have bail if it was her own child. She’s hardly a threat to the public at large.”
    “The police say there’s every danger she’ll go after him again. They say she’s in a poor mental state. There’s no surety and she’s as good as homeless.”
    “What do you mean, as good as ?”
    “It’s what the police say.”
    “Never go by what the police say. She’s either homeless or not. Have you tried to find her a hostel?”
    “I haven’t had . . .”
    “We can’t have our clients languishing in prison unnecessarily. It’s highly unlikely that a reasonable judge will ultimately imprison her for the offense of kidnapping her own child. She must have bail.”
    “There is no certainty that she’ll be able to get him back legally. That’s why I don’t think the court will grant bail. I’ve studied the 1891 act which gives the courts the right not to grant custody to unfit parents . . .”
    “At this moment I’m not interested in legal rights. The woman must be got off this ridiculous charge. We’ll go to court in the morning and have her bailed. Then you can put her in touch with some organization that will help her to earn money while we write to the prosecution. Good Lord, Miss Gifford, I took you on because I thought you’d be resourceful—I didn’t expect you to fall at the first hurdle. What about your friends at Toynbee? Miss Morrison. Have you talked to her? I’m sure she’ll have some ideas.”
    “Yes, I could consult . . .”
    “Well, do consult. Explore every avenue. Think through and around the problem, Miss Gifford. Use your contacts, limited though they be. I thought you women were good at talking. Nurture your acquaintances, you never know when you might need them. The accused man in this case of murder, Wheeler, for example, is an old acquaintance of mine and suddenly he needs me, all right. We were brought up more or less around the corner from each other, attended the same elementary school. The victim is his wife, shot in the breast at close range. Apparently they were on a picnic .” He spoke this last word with utter incredulity, as he might have said a high wire , and certainly I could not imagine the purposeful Mr.